


An Occasional Friend

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: Scat lives on the streets, but he visits an occasional friend, when needs must.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	An Occasional Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Note: My thanks to Lee the T for her helpful suggestions and for giving her time to read through this.  
> Yesterday, I was reminded of one of the first stories I wrote, back in the depths of time. I was unable to find a copy of it (I suspect the floppy disc it was on has long since perished). I think it appeared in a British fanzine, but I no longer have a copy. So, I suppose you could consider this a redux, of sorts as it has a similar premise.

Most folks call me Scat. I live on the streets of Greenwich Village, making a living as best I can, often relying on the kindness of strangers. It’s been this way for a long time. I’m a loner by nature, but not ashamed to use others when the need arises.  


The need arose tonight. I was hungry and I searched the usual haunts for an easy meal. Hunger makes you bold, and I’ve come to rely on several sources I know where I can beg for food. I’m good at begging, I’m good at looking pitiful – not too hard to pull off when you actually are – and some people are suckers for a sad, pathetic face.

I staked out one of my favourite haunts near Washington Square Park. The Village has a lot to offer; hippy types are suckers for a hard luck story. Tonight, though, the weather was against me. Heavy rain kept a lot of people indoors and so I hunkered down near the top of an alley, keeping an eye open for any likely prospects.

Down the street, a figure was coming towards me, dressed in black and walking with purpose. I stepped back into the shadows. When he got closer, I recognised him, his blond hair a beacon in the dark. I knew this man. This one was a soft touch, an occasional friend, someone I could rely on to help me out when I needed it. 

As he passed, I slipped from the alley, keeping to the side of the building, and followed behind at a safe distance.

He reached his building, but I was too slow to follow him in and the door slammed shut, locking me out. But luck was on my side tonight; no sooner had it closed, than an old lady shuffled out, the walking stick in her hand tapping noisily against the concrete. She paused in the entrance to button up her coat and I quickly slipped inside and trotted up the stairs.

I knew the way to his apartment; I’d been here before. I stopped outside his door, considering my next move, but before I could do anything, the door opened and my occasional friend looked at me with a raised eyebrow. 

“I thought I saw you skulking in the shadows,” he said. He opened the door wider. “Well? Are you coming in?”

I didn’t need asking twice. I sauntered through into his apartment, trying to look casual. I heard the door close behind me and felt a moment of panic. Enclosed spaces made me nervous, but I knew I was safe with this man.

I plonked myself down on his sofa, but he said, “Don’t get comfortable. I’m expecting company and I don’t think he’d be happy to find you here.”

I should be offended at that. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to upset him, so I vacated the comfy cushion and stood expectantly.

“I suppose you want something to eat?” 

It was more a statement than a question. It was the reason for my visit, after all; he knew me well. I followed behind as he headed towards the kitchen. Without waiting to be asked, I took a seat at the small table and watched as he searched through the cupboard. 

“I hope you don’t mind something out of a tin,” he said. “I don’t have anything fresh, I’m afraid. I just got back from…well, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a vacation.”

He waved a heavily bandaged hand at me before resting it on top of the tin. With his free hand, he used a tin opener to open the can. Something delightfully smelling reached my nostrils and I watched, mouth watering, as he forked it out onto a plate.

“Here. Tuck in,” he said, putting the plate down on the table in front of me. I didn’t need telling twice.

He leaned against the counter top watching me. “You’re not very talkative tonight. Cat got your tongue?” he said with a smile. I smiled back, but kept eating. Sustenance was more important than discourse.

I followed him with my eyes as he walked back to the sofa and sat down with an almighty sigh. After I’d licked the plate clean, I walked back into the living room and stood before him. His eyes were closed and he rubbed tiredly at his temples.

I wanted to show my appreciation of his kindness. Reward him in some way. So I brazenly sat on his knee. His eyes opened in surprise, but he leaned back, smiling, his hand stroking along my flank. I purred with pleasure. This was something I missed, living on the streets. I loved the freedom of living without rules but there was a lot to be said for the warmth of a human body.

I was just about to nuzzle his neck when a knock sounded at the door. He stood without warning and I slid off his lap, landing gracefully on my feet. I glared at his back as he walked over to the window. 

“Quick,” he said. “My friend is here, he won’t be happy to find you making yourself at home.” I crossed over to him as he pulled the sash window open. He gestured towards the fire escape outside and I obediently jumped out. Without so much as a goodbye, he closed the window, shutting me out.

I leaned towards the glass and watched, hidden in the darkness, as he walked to the door and opened it. My occasional friend greeted a dark-haired man. Napoleon, he called him. A strange name, but I’d heard stranger. I saw his visitor walk about the small apartment as if he owned the place and I felt a twinge of jealousy. I may be an infrequent visitor, but I felt like I had dibs on everything he touched; the sofa, the chair, my occasional friend.

I watched this interloper drop his coat over the back of the sofa and walk into the kitchen. He picked up my emptied plate from the table and sniffed at it.

“Tuna?” I heard him say. “Since when did you like tuna?”

“Since when did you care what I eat? I was hungry.”

His visitor waved a bag in my friend’s face. “Good thing I came bearing gifts, then…”

I should be offended. My occasional friend preferred his company to mine? I was definitely cuter.

I turned away, my interest lost– I have a short attention span – and considered my next move.

A visit to Mrs Dubcek, one block away, was in order, I think. She was a pushover for a friendly face and always gave a saucer of the best, creamiest milk. If I was lucky, maybe she’d let me cosy up in front of the fire for a while.

I raised a paw, slicked it up with plenty of saliva and cleaned my muzzle before giving the rest of my fur a quick going over. After all, it didn’t do for an alley cat to turn up looking like a drowned rat.

I glanced back through the window. My friend and his visitor were pressed close, licking each other’s muzzles, hands stroking where their tails should be. Humans had some strange ways of communicating.

I turned away from the window, flicked my tail and headed for my next soft touch. I’d be back one day, but I had my rounds to do first.

THE END


End file.
